


Taste of Bavaria

by JessamyGriffith



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Braden Holtby is a hockey player, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, Philipp Grubauer - tour guide AU, Tourism, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/pseuds/JessamyGriffith
Summary: Philipp Grubauer is a tour guide, resigned to spending yet another day introducing American tourists to the beauty of Bavaria.Braden Holtby, star goaltender for the Washington Capitals, is looking forward to a nice day seeing the sights of Munich on his vacation.Happily, neither of them is going to have their day go quite as expected.





	1. Munich

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grubauers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grubauers/gifts).



> Language notes - hover over the text for translations or just scroll to the bottom. There's bits of German, Bairisch (Bavarian German) and French.

**Munich**

The early morning sun streaming through the glass frontage of the hotel cast Philipp’s shadow in a long stretch across the marble tiles as he tapped his clipboard against his leg in impatience. The elevator doors opened and he looked over, ready to call out, but a trio of women only made their way into the adjoining restaurant, chattering.

 _Schiesse._ The bus tour should have left fifteen minutes ago. This was the worst part of this job - herding thoughtless people in a timely manner on and off buses. Why he’d ever agreed to - well, he knew why. His friend Lucas had suggested it. “Volunteer guide. Good way to brush up your English before you fly off for your grad studies,” he’d said, and then grinned, sly. “Plus you might meet someone - a little summer fling, yes?”

“Overweight Americans on a bus tour?” Philipp had retorted. “I think not. Plus, you know how they are.” Implied was the general consensus Europeans had that the US was not exactly forward-thinking with regards to same-sex relations. Lucas had only shrugged.

“You never know. You’re too young to be this cynical, Philipp.”

Philipp pulled out his phone and checked the time again. The waiting bus honked, once. _Na gut._ He’d give the last tour group member one more minute and -

  _Ding!_ The elevator doors opened again.

The man who emerged looked… about right. American, but not in loud way with those shorts and Birkenstocks. More like an obnoxious hipster type, really, with that short and neatly trimmed auburn beard. Sunglasses were tucked into the vee of his short-sleeve button down, and he was obviously ready to go out, tugging down a floppy cotton hat and hitching up a messenger bag before looking about the lobby.

“Sir?” Philip called. The man turned to him, eyes squinting against the glare. His gaze fixed on Philipp and his mouth dropped open a little. “Sir!” Philip glanced at the clipboard. “Brandon?” _Brandon_ , such an American name. “You’re late.”

“I am? Sorry. Uh, I mean - What?”

The bus horn sounded again twice and there was no time. “Never mind, sir, it’s fine,” he said, interrupting the soft stammering. “Just come this way, the bus is waiting.” Philip chivvied his lost duckling towards the entrance with a hand on the man’s shoulder. _Good shoulders_ , said one part of his brain. _Thick_. Philipp cut the thought off with an impatient shake of his head. “Here you are,” he said, guiding Brandon to an empty seat on the bus. “Buckle up, please.” Brandon plopped into it and looked at Philipp in bewilderment, mouth hanging open a little. “Okay, Michael, _ olle san do. Gehma_,” Philipp said to the bus driver, who nodded and shifted gears. Philipp grabbed a seat back to steady himself against the sway.

“Um,” said Brandon. His coppery brows were drawn together.

Oh. Philipp cast his mind back over their meeting. Had he been too abrupt? Even more than most Germans, Bavarians tended to be blunt. “Sorry for the rush, sir,” he said. “We’re running a little behind. You wouldn’t have wanted to miss the tour, would you? It would be a terrible waste.” God knew how often he heard complaints from guests about how expensive Germany was, but what did they expect, going to a top tourist destination with all the accompanying shops and restaurants designed to politely and pleasantly fleece travellers? He directed his best smile down into Brandon’s upturned face. Brandon’s eyes searched his face before a slow smile of his own stretched his face, eyes crinkling with some inner amusement. A flush of heat warmed Philipp’s cheeks.

“No, I guess not,” the man said. “Looks like it’s going to be a good one.” He looked down, plucking the tour pamphlet from the seat back and Philipp blew a soundless breath. “Oh, hey, the Sleeping Beauty castle? By the way, you don’t have to say sir,” he added. “You can just use my first name.”

“Thank you. It’s nice, the way you Americans are so casual,” Philipp said. “Always, ‘No, don’t be so formal, call me by my first name!’” Brandon grinned again, though Philipp wasn’t sure why. “Brandon, then. I’m Philipp. Philipp Grubauer, and I’ll be your tour guide today as we visit the famous castles of Neuschwanstein and Linderhoff!” He said the last in his best tour guide intonation and was rewarded with a laugh.

“Nice to meet you, Philipp.”

“You as well, Brandon. Excuse me, I need to-” He gestured to the front of the bus.

“Yeah, of course,” Brandon said. “Sorry.”

Philipp picked up the microphone and turned it on, turning away from the devastating smile still curving Brandon’s mouth to begin his spiel. Time to focus, forget about the handsome man still watching him intently. _American_ , he reminded himself. _Tourist_. “ _Moang beinandl_ , good morning, everyone! Welcome to the ‘Taste of Bavaria’ tour. My name is Philipp and…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes:
> 
> Scheisse - shit  
> Na gut - Oookay, Fine then, Great! - sarcastic in tone  
> olle san do - Everyone's here. (in Bairisch)  
> Gehma - Let's go. (in Bairisch)  
> Moang beinandl - Good morning, everyone. (in Bairisch)


	2. Schloss Neuschwanstein

** Schloss Neuschwanstein **

 

“Did everyone enjoy the castle tour?” A resounding _yes_ came back. “Glad to hear it,” Philip said. “Everyone should - castle are famous for their knight life.” The expected groan made him smirk. “Okay, everyone, follow me. We’re heading down to Marienbrucke, or Queen Mary's Bridge, a suspended bridge over the gorge, and one of the best places for you to take some final photos before we head back to the bus. If anyone has problems with heights, let me know and I’ll direct you to an alternative route to the bus parking.” No one raised a hand and Philipp nodded. “Good! Take care on the paths - the gravel is loose, so make sure your shoes are laced tightly.” 

He noticed Brandon looking ruefully at his Birkenstocks and shrugged. Tourists. The leather sandals were better than some of the women who insisted on wearing high heels, but Philipp had no pity for people with more style than sense. Even if the person was a handsome man in this case. They were on tour in the _mountains_ , for God’s sake.

The bridge was crowded with people at this time of day. Philipp obliged some of his guests by snapping smiling shots of them with the rising blue-roofed towers of the castle in the background. As he leaned against the far rail to stay out of the way of photographers, he watched as Brandon was approached by a young man and woman, the man looking disbelieving. They exchanged a few words, Brandon smiling in a friendly way. The girl looked pleased, but the young man’s face split in a grin and he shook Brandon’s hand. He handed his phone to the girl, snugged up against Brandon’s side and grinned as Brandon dropped an arm over his shoulders for a few photos. What in the world-? Philipp moved closer and caught the end of Brandon’s sentence.

“...would normally, but I’m on vacation, so I’m keeping it low-key, you know?”

“No, no, it’s cool, I understand,” the young man said, tucking a pen and notebook back into the backpack he'd fumbled it from. “Thanks so much for the pictures! I can’t wait to post them, my friends are going to go nuts!” His eyes never left Brandon’s face, completely captivated. Was he - was he trying to pick Brandon up? Get his number? Philipp couldn’t blame him, he himself wasn’t immune to the appeal but -

“God, Jay, he’s going to think you’re totally in love with him, you’re the most embarrassing sibling in the world,” the girl said. “Say goodbye before he calls the police, let the man enjoy his vacation.”

Jay flushed but let himself be dragged off, fingers flying over his phone, presumably already posting to Twitter or whatever. Weird.

Brandon brightened when he saw Philipp. “Oh, hey, perfect timing. Could I get you to take a couple pics?” He held out an iPhone in a large case.

“Of course,” Philipp said. He took a full length photo, stepped closer for a three-quarter shot, then cocked his head. “The sunglasses? Hat?”

“What about them?”

“I think - well, if you are sending them to friends and family, they will want to see your face,” Philipp said. “My own mother would.”

“They already know what my face looks like,” Brandon pointed out, but removed them as suggested, sweeping thick auburn hair back before facing the camera.

“Much better,” Philipp said. Really, the man was too good-looking to wear that disgusting hat, with those high cheekbones and that strong nose. He took a few more pictures and made to hand the phone back but Brandon stopped him.

“Selfie with my tour guide?”

“Oh. Sure.” He moved beside Brandon against the railing and held the phone up. “Hang on, I need to angle -”

“Get closer, you’re not in the frame,” Brandon said and looped an arm around Philipp, pulling him against his side. Philipp did his best to ignore the heat of the hand resting on his waist and held the phone up again. The case felt clumsy in his suddenly damp hands as he tried to find the exterior shutter button with his thumb. When Brandon leaned in close, head brushing against his own, Philipp’s hand jerked. The phone slipped from his grasp and -

Didn’t break. Brandon lunged and caught it before it hit the planks, as neat as a bird of prey snatching its prey mid-flight. Philipp gaped. “Nice catch.”

“Thanks,” Brandon said.

“You’re… very fast.”

“I have good reflexes. Sports,” Brandon said with an odd smile. “Not that it would have broken, probably, but yeah, this case is a bit heavy. Come on, let’s try this again, I’ll do it.”

Heart still beating a quick pace from the near-disaster - and Brandon’s athletic display - Philipp let himself be reeled in again even closer, the side of his body pressed against Brandon’s. They were nearly the same height, he noticed as he looked into the phone’s screen. The shutter noise sounded twice.

“Smile, Philipp,” Brandon instructed, turning his head so his breath tickled the hairs behind Philipp’s ear. A small shudder of pure physical attraction coursed through Philipp's body. “The phone’s fine, it’s a beautiful day and the view’s great.”

“It’s hard to take a bad picture of Neuschwanstein,” Philipp said, voice slightly rough.

“...That, too,” Brandon said. “Now smile.”

Philipp did. The phone clicked a few times. Brandon’s enclosing arm didn’t shift from around Philipp as he lowered the phone and began fiddling with it. “Got enough?” Philipp said finally. As if he had just realized he still held Philipp captive, Brandon’s arm withdrew slowly.

“Sorry. Yeah, just posting a couple now to Insta. That’s one, and now… There.” The phone immediately buzzed, then again. And again, and again. Brandon cursed. “Shit, must’ve left the notifications on.” He tapped, then turned the phone off and dropped it in his bag.

“You have many followers?” Philipp asked. Brandon huffed a laugh, his expression as he looked at Philipp amused and sort of… pleased? It was as if Philipp were a strange wonder he’d never encountered before. It was odd, but Philipp shrugged it off.

“Yeah, yeah, I do. On one account, anyway. I have another one for close friends, or else it gets crazy.”

It wasn’t unheard of. “Wise choice,” Philipp said. “I have maybe a hundred followers, but even that’s too much for me at times.”

“I hear you,” Braden said. “But doing the social media thing…” He shrugged as they moved off the crowded bridge. “Kinda necessary in so many jobs these days. But I like to keep some things private.” Their shoulders bumped as they walked, but Brandon didn’t seem to notice. He had a peculiar lack of personal space for an American, Philipp thought. With some reluctance, he edged away. He still had his job to do.

“Go on ahead,” he said. “I need to wait for, _ähhh,_ people behind us? Stragglers. You remember which bus is ours?”

“Sure. I’ll see you down there,” Brandon said and made his way down the path, Birkenstocks crunching in the gravel. Philipp watched his easy gait a long moment before giving himself a mental shake and turning back to his duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:
> 
> Schloss Neuschwanstein - Neuschwanstein Castle
> 
> ähhh - um, er, uh


	3. Steingaden

**Steingaden**

“... in 1738, it was said that the figure of Christ had tears on its face, and so everyone rushed to Steingaden to see! Wies Church has been a pilgrimage site ever since. Please remember that this is a still a place of worship and be respectful. Okay, everyone ready? I want to hear your opinion of the Baroque decor, yes? Just like a meringue. Or whipped cream.” Philipp grinned at the groans. “Yes, I’m hungry also. So remember to be back in half an hour for the short drive to Steingaden, where you’ll be free to find lunch. Set your alarms, and enjoy Wieskirche.”

Philipp waited until the last person had filed off the bus before slumping into his seat at the front of the bus. He wedged his long legs against the half-wall, resting his elbows on his thighs as he began flipping through Instagram. Wies Church was a glorious example of its type, true, but Philipp was indifferent. The perils of tour operating - repeated exposure to even the most gorgeous of scenery palled. He snorted softly at a photo Lucas had posted and began typing his response. Behind him there was a quiet sound and his fingers froze. The hair on his arms prickled upright. The noise repeated, rasping. Philipp straightened up, craning his head around. Michael was outside, talking with another driver. With as much stealth as he could muster, Phillip stood and peered over the seats.

Brandon was slumped sideways against the window, sunglasses sitting skew-whiff over his eyes and bearded cheek mashed against the messenger bag he was using as a pillow as he slept. The soft snore came again and Philipp smirked. Well. If the American chose a nap over Wies Church, Philipp wouldn’t judge. Much. There were so many churches to appreciate in Europe, after all. He paused to enjoy for a moment how Brandon’s pink lips were slightly parted, the flush of sleep on pale skin. _Nein._ Philipp bit the inside of his cheek, hard, and retreated to his seat and the suddenly diminished pleasures of social media.

 

 

“Be back to the bus by one o’clock,” Philipp called to his scattering group. An older couple asked him about restaurant options with English menus, and he directed them efficiently. They thanked him, left and he breathed out. At last he could have his own bagged lunch. There was a cough behind him and he spun, irritated.

“Philipp.” Brandon was rubbing sleep creases from his face, fingers scratching through his thick beard. He gave a rueful smile. “Sorry to bother you. Any recommendations for lunch?”

“Certainly,” Philipp said. “Any allergies? Did you have a good nap?” He smiled a little at Brandon’s chagrin.

“Um, yeah. I didn’t quite plan that. It’s a knack I have, falling asleep on buses and planes. Bit of jet lag, I guess.”

“Is that safe? Sleeping on public transport in America?” Philipp asked.

“For me, it is. Aside from waking up on occasion as the butt of a practical joke,” Brandon said and before Philipp could ask more, added, “No, no allergies. But this is the Bavarian experience, right? So - what’s good?”

Philipp began to list restaurants and cafes within easy walking distance but Brandon interrupted him. “No, um. How about you show me? I’ll buy you lunch.” He paused, looking at Philipp’s face. “Is that okay? Or - is there a no-fraternization rule in your company?”

Actually - well, there was no regulation about it, though Philipp’s heard complaints from some of the female guides about tourists trying to enjoy themselves a little _too_ much on their vacations. Professionalism was expected, and though he was only volunteering for the summer Philipp considered himself a professional. But Brandon seemed innocently sincere in his offer, and Philipp’s liverwurst and lettuce sandwich was no doubt sad and wilted. All right. Lunch. _With an attractive man_ , his mind added, and Philipp shoved the traitorous thought down.

“For the full experience, then, seeing how you missed Wieskirche,” he said. “Bavarian lunch with an actual Bavarian.” Brandon’s smile was delighted. “Thank you,” Philipp added.

 

 

Brandon’s face was carefully blank as he surveyed his plate, kӓseschnitzel covered in a creamy sauce with sides of carrots and cheesy spӓtzle noodles. “Oh. Um. Wow.”

Philipp lifted a brow. “You don’t like schnitzel?” Most North American tourists were thrilled to see the pork cutlets. “You wanted a taste of Bavaria.”

“No, it looks great,” Brandon was quick to say. “That’s kinda the problem.” He cut a corner off, biting as his lip as some cheese oozed out of the fried coating. He ate the morsel and his eyes closed, head tilting back and exposing his strong throat. “God, that’s good.”

His expression was so rapturous that Philipp took a hasty sip of his water to combat a sudden surge of warmth. _Professional_ , he reminded himself. “Schnitzel is very common across Germany, but this is a regional variation.”

Brandon tried the spӓtzle with similar enjoyment, muttering, “My nutritionist is experiencing a sense of terrible dread somewhere and doesn’t even know why.” He caught Philipp’s eye, and swallowed. “Worth it. Probably.”

 _Nutritionist_ , Phillip thought with an inward eye roll. Americans and their diets. “I won’t tell, I promise. I’m glad you like it. Though I could give you some of my salmon?”

Brandon held up a fork in clear threat and Philipp laughed, warding him off with a hand. “Back off. I think I’m love with how Bavaria tastes.”

Philipp throttled back an intrusive thought concerning Brandon, _tasting_ , and one particular Bavarian, his cheeks heating, and bent his head to his own meal. Brandon cleared his plate quickly and sat back with a satisfied sigh. He fanned himself with his hat as he watched Philipp pile small fish bones by the side of his plate. “Stupid question, but - is it always so hot around here?”

“Hot? I wouldn’t call this hot,” Philipp said. Brandon was a bit flushed, forehead shining. “But it is a bit warm in here, I suppose.” The restaurant’s windows were open, and a few fans blew. “It must seem strange to you, but did you know most German houses don’t have air conditioning? Not worth it for a few weeks of the year.”

“Practical and eco-friendly,” Brandon said. “I’m pretty used to cold, though. And I don’t think I could live without central air in my house.”

“A cold drink?” Philipp suggested. An imp of mischief prompted him call the dirndl-clad waitress over. _“A Eiskaffä bitschee, fia moana Freind.”_

When the waitress returned with the drink, a small girl at the next table over looked longingly at the confection that was placed in front of Brandon. “ _Maman, Maman, glacée. Je veux cela._ ”

Philipp bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snickering at the look of polite horror on Brandon’s face as he surveyed the iced coffee, beautifully topped with a large helping of vanilla ice cream, whipped cream and a wafer. Brandon lifted his gaze to Philipp. “Be honest. Was it the nutritionist comment, or are you just a devil wearing a name badge and a tour guide’s body, trying to make me give in to temptation?”

Philipp choked, but got out, “It’s the taste of Bavaria, the way you like.” He did his best to smooth his expression, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Brandon groaned.

“All right, you got me. But seriously, I’m not going to eat that, not after that meal.”

Philipp grinned. “Here, let me help.” He grabbed a spoon and scooped the offending ingredients onto a side plate. “There. Nothing but coffee now. You’ll live.”

Brandon sipped his ice cream tainted coffee with a look so like one of the martyred saints from Philipp’s church tours that he barked a laugh. Brandon’s eyes crinkled in a smile. Under the table, Philipp felt something brush against the side of his shoe. The touch retreated, then returned, a steady press. Brandon’s foot. Was - was it an accident? Philipp looked at Brandon from under his eyelashes as he pretended to fiddle with his napkin, but Brandon only took another sip.

“Maman,” whined the little girl again. The foot retreated, to Philipp’s relief as Brandon turned to her.

“Bonjour,” he said. “Est-ce que… est-ce que tu veux de le… de la glace?" To Philipp's surprise, Brandon's French phrasing was slow and terribly accented, but understandable. Brandon looked at the girl’s mother. “Uh… Can she… uh, avoir one? Is that okay?” The girl’s mother looked about to protest but Brandon pressed on. “C'est ma… mon plaisir. I’ll pay. If you don’t mind.”

Philipp smiled as the woman looked questioningly at him, indicating with a shrug that his companion was possibly eccentric but harmless and full of goodwill. The woman gave in as her daughter looked up at her, beseeching. “D’accord. Dites 'merci' au monsieur, Chloé.”

“Merci beaucoup!” said Chloé, beaming. Brandon waved a server over to take the girl’s ecstatic order of ‘la glace au chocolat, s'il vous plait!’

“That was very kind of you,” Philipp said as Brandon handed over his card to the server. The whole exchange had been charming. “You seem good with children.”

“I love kids,” Brandon said easily. “They’re so honest about what they want.” His mouth quirked.

“Your French is quite good,” Philipp said. If anything, he would have expected some stumbling stock travel-guide phrases.

“It’s not,” Brandon denied. “I’ve gotten really rusty since high school.” He picked up his floppy hat and stood, lifting a hand to Chloé and her mother. “Au revoir.”

Oh, high school French. That explained it. Philipp followed him out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:
> 
> Nein - no  
> liverwurst - a spreadable meat paste with liver  
> kӓseschnitzel - local cheeses in a breaded fried pork cutlet  
> spӓtzle - a cross between egg noodles and gnocchi  
> A Eiskaffä bitschee, fia moana Freind. - An ice cream coffee, please, for my friend. (Like a cross between Thai tea and an ice cream float, but with coffee)  
> Maman, Maman, glacée. Je veux cela. - Mom, Mom, ice cream. I want that.  
> Bonjour. - Hello.  
> Est-ce que tu veux de la glace? - Would you like some ice cream?  
> avoir - have  
> C'est mon plaisir - It's my treat, my pleasure.  
> D'accord - All right.  
> Dites 'merci' au monsieur. - Say 'thank you' to the gentleman.  
> Merci beaucoup -thank you very much!  
> la glace au chocolat - chocolate ice cream  
> s'il vous plait - please  
> Au revoir - Goodbye.


	4. Linderhof Palace

** Schloss Linderhof **

Philipp sat on the rounded balustrade of the veranda overlooking the Neptune fountains several meters below, enjoying the sun as he waited for the guided tour to finish. As per usual, he’d help with photos and direct people as they came to various parts of the formal garden or the Venus Grotto. He had his phone out, but wasn’t really focussing, thumb moving to scroll through Twitter without reading any of the posts. He was torn. On one hand, it seemed as though Brandon were interested in Philipp - and wasn’t that an ego boost? The man was gorgeous, in spite of the ugly hat and that patterned shirt. On the other hand, well. There was Philipp’s job. And the fact that Brandon was a tourist and only here a short time meant he would be the fling that his friend Lucas had so flippantly recommended for Philipp. Not that he was looking for long-term, not with his post-grad program abroad about to take up all of his time. But -

A shadow fell across him and he looked up to Brandon’s smile. “Interesting stuff?” Brandon asked, nodding at the phone.

Philipp looking down, saw that he’d reached the limit of loadable posts and clicked his phone off. “It passes the time. You’re out early - is something wrong? Are you okay?” _Scheisse_ , stupid question, Brandon was obviously more than okay.

“Yeah, fine, just.” Philipp lifted a brow at the helpless gesture Brandon made at the castle. Brandon grimaced. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing, and the interior looks a lot like Neuschwanstein? To me, anyway. It’s just - a lot. Hell, one room was more than enough.”

Huh. Everyone raved about Linderhof - this was a fresh take. “It was based on Versailles,” Philipp said, interested to see where this would go.

“So I heard. There’s… so much gold leaf. And the rooms are practically crusted top to bottom with plaster flowers and scrolls and… marble.”

“King Ludwig was a great patron of the arts. He, _äh,_ he bankrupted his country, building his palaces,” said Philip in faux reproof.

“Well, that was stupid,” Brandon said. Philipp barked a laugh. “There’s the problem with having kings, right there. And honestly, how could the guy sleep during the day here with all that crap pressing in on him? It’s claustrophobic.”

“I suppose he wanted to feel important,” Philipp said. “And perhaps to console himself. He had a difficult life - no wife, problems with his faith.”

“The gay thing?” Brandon said. Philipp blinked, and Brandon chuckled. “Don’t look surprised, I could hear the subtext in the guide’s speech. Sure, I get that. But it’s still hard to feel sorry for him when you look at these places, how he must have lived compared to everyone else.”

“Socialist,” Philipp said, but not accusingly.

“Well, when you grow up in a mostly equal society,” Brandon said. “Anyway, I needed to get outside for a bit.” He scanned the view, nodding. “Nice. Nothing like where I’m from. I’m enjoying this tour a lot, but I’ll be glad to get home again.”

Ah. Of course he would. Philipp nodded, mostly to himself, heart sinking a little.

“What about you?” Brandon asked. 

“What?”

“You like this?” He directed a thumb towards the interior.

Philipp paused, but admitted, “I appreciate it - the artistry, the - how do you say - craft? And it’s part of the history of Bavaria, but… it’s not really my taste. No.”

“Yeah?” Brandon leaned a hip against the balustrade next to him. “What do you like?”

“Graffiti,” Philipp said. “Street murals.”

“Ah,” Brandon said. “Personal, decorative, sometimes political art for the masses? Created by and speaking for and to the disenfranchised and disenchanted? Illegal paintings challenging the status quo?” He laughed. “And you call me a socialist.”

“They’re beautiful,” Philipp said. “Or not, sometimes on purpose. But yes, I do like them, for all those reasons. You seem-” He paused. “These are things you think about?”

“Equality? Sure,” Brandon said. “For people, for sexes, for races. I’d like to see it in my lifetime, but. I’ll just settle for working for _more_ anyway I can. Charities, Pride parades…” Philipp looked at him sharply at that last point. “There’s a reason I love Bob Dylan,” Brandon concluded.

Philipp laughed. “I knew it! You _are_ a hipster!”

“Oh, hey, now,” Brandon said. “Be fair. I also like Warren Zevon and-”

“Even better!” Philipp said. “ _Werewolves of London!_ But you - you’re an American Werewolf in Bavaria!” 

At the resigned look on Brandon’s face, Philipp could see he’d heard this joke before and leaned back with his arms folded over his stomach as he laughed, eyes squeezed shut. They flew wide again as he overbalanced, his feet leaving the pavers. He flailed and in his swinging vision he saw a couple exiting the palace staring, the woman emitting a short scream, Brandon’s mouth falling open, sky. ‘ _Zifix_ , he was going to fall and crack his skull on the- 

“Fuck!” Suddenly there were hands grabbing fistfuls of Philipp’s polo shirt. Stitching in his shirt made popping noises as with a huge effort Brandon hauled Philipp upright and to his feet. They both staggered. “Fuck. Holy shit.” Together they stood, breathing slowing. Brandon touched his forehead to Philipp’s, russet lashes fluttering closed briefly. “Don’t do that again. You scared the hell out of me.” He finally released his hold on Philipp’s shirt, patting his shoulder as if to be sure he were still in one piece before stepping back. He blew a hard breath.

“I’m - I’m fine.” Philipp’s laugh was as shaky as his legs. “You caught me just in time. Thank you.” He turned as the couple rushed to him, exclaiming over his close call in rapid German and he did his best to reassure them. Behind them, Brandon swiped a forearm over his sweating forehead before bending to pick up his hat.

He - Philipp needed a moment. To think, slow his heart rate. And then put it out of his mind and get back to work. But he knew he wasn’t going to forget the speed and strength with which Brandon had displayed, that heart-stopping moment when he’d pulled Philipp from imagined death to heat and life as Philipp had fallen against Brandon’s muscular body. He - he needed to get this _verflucht _ tour done. And then - well. He’d make up his mind about Brandon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes:
> 
> Schloss Linderhof - Linderhof Castle  
> Scheisse - Shit  
> 'Zifix - shortened version of Crucifix. The feeling is for a very strong punchy swear word, like 'fuck!' Bavarian cursing tends to be a bit like Quebecois - the worst curses are based on church iconography. Conversely, they consider 'scheisse' or shit, to be a very mild curse in comparison.  
> verflucht - cursed, damned


	5. Oberammergau

**Oberammergau**

Philipp raised a hand for attention. “All right, everybody here? Welcome to Trachtenmode Oberammergau, which sells the traditional costume of Bavaria. But it’s not costume as you see in the theatre - people still wear these for everyday wear or work. You may have seen your restaurant servers wearing _Dirndl_. _Lederhosen_ are practical, hard-wearing and as I can personally tell you, quite comfortable in spite of being made of leather.” He winked, and everyone laughed.

“Show us, Philipp!” an older woman called. Brandon’s teeth glinted in a wide smile. Ursula, the matronly shop owner shook her head and sighed. She knew what he would say.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Philipp said with outrageous apology over some disappointed ‘awws’, “But! We do have a chance for some of you to try on traditional wear and model it for the rest of us. I think…” He scanned his group. “Three or four people? And while they are changing, feel free to browse. Who would like to try?”

Immediately a teenage girl stepped forward, tugging her protesting mother with her. “We do! Mom, come on, it’ll be fun.”

Ursula nodded. “It will. I pride myself on my work. Don’t worry, madam - _Dirndl_ suit every body type. Lina?” A shop girl escorted the pair to the back of the shop.

“We need some gentlemen as well,” Philipp prompted. The men shuffled. Philipp sighed, giving them a wry smile. “You don’t need to be shy, I promise.” He paused, then continued, “Or… we can pull a name from a hat? The Hunger Games of _Lederhosen_?” There was a burst of laughter at that. “Come on, are you sure none of you want to volunteer as Tribute?”

“He’ll do,” Ursula said, pointing at Brandon. Her eyes swept him from head to toe and she smiled like the cat that got the cream.

“Hey,” Brandon said, “No, really -” But Ursula had already wrapped a plump hand around his wrist and was tugging him forward. Grinning, Philipp flanked his other side to cut off any escape attempts. This would be interesting.

“Sorry, bud,” another man said. “Looks like you’ve been volunteered.”

“But -”

“Shhh, shhh, I don’t get many chances to dress men as handsome as you,” Ursula said. “You think you will look foolish? You won’t, I promise.”

“Unless we put you in _Dirndl_ ,” Philipp said. Brandon’s cheeks were reddening. It was a good look.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I rock a nice little black dress,” Brandon said.

Philipp’s step faltered a moment at the mental image. “You…?”

Ursula raised a brow but began sifting through shirts, holding up a pale blue one before shaking her head and putting it back. Brandon crossed his arms, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Philip blinked. “What? Do you -” He stopped himself before he got too personal. Brandon lifted a shoulder, and the penny dropped. “Ah. American Halloween, I’ve seen the ex-pats in the bars.”

“You sure?” Brandon said. “Maybe I do a little cabaret on the weekends. You never know. I could be a killer lounge singer.”

But Philipp shook his head. “No, no, I don’t believe it. I mean, I’d like to see it!” Wait, did that come out wrong? A mental image of Brandon leaning against a piano, shoulders gleaming in a thin-strapped dress flashed through his mind. _Gott im Himmel._ He needed to govern himself. He hastily added, “But you don’t seem the type that wants to be the center of attention.”

“Yeah, pretty much true,” Brandon said. He blew a heavy breath and eyed the rows of short leather pants with a jaded eye. “Yet here we are. Thanks for throwing me under the bus, bud. Hope you enjoy the show.”

“Ursula chose you, not me,” Philipp protested.

“Yes, I did,” Ursula said. “You. Go away now while I make this man more handsome.”

“ _Good luck with that_ ,” Philipp muttered in German to her, but left them to it.

 

Philipp wasn’t sure what he had done recently or at some unknown point in his life to deserve this, but he was in Hell. He brushed a wrist quickly over his damp forehead, professionalism prevailing, and plowed on.

“...and as you see, the _Dirndl_ is finished with an apron, which made it ideal for housework and cooking. Though the style originated about four hundred years ago, _Dirndl_ are often used for fashion and come in many modern styles, like the one Angela is wearing.” 

The young woman flashed a brilliant smile and did a little fashion walk, ending with a twirl as her mother laughed. “Very charming, isn’t it? Now, for the men…” Philipp took a quick breath as Brandon stepped forward. _Hell._ And Ursula was the devil incarnate.

It wasn’t the tasteful white linen shirt, patterned in a soft check of cream and tawny browns that had Philipp afire. No one in real life burned for a stupid shirt. It wasn’t the soft wool jacket. It wasn’t the gorgeously decorated brown lederhosen. Nor the hat with its absurd moss green feather, tilted just so - rakish, unbearable. No, it was the _gottverdammt_ _everything._

Make Brandon more handsome? Ursula had taken his throw-away comment as a challenge, and - handsome? Brandon was _stunning._ Ursula’s choices for the outfit were perfection. And everything was just ever-so-slightly small. Or - or was it just Brandon? The jacket clung to broad shoulders and thick biceps until Brandon pulled it off and slung it over his shoulder, runway model style. The shirt buttons strained slightly across his muscular chest with the movement. And the hosen? God, he couldn’t - he had to -

It was only the force of habit and pure rote memory that kept Philipp’s mouth moving on his spiel as Brandon turned to display the back of the costume. Thank God, as his brain had completely given up and shut down rational thought. The thick thighs. His _ass_ , leather straining slightly across it. Brandon was like some autumnal fruit, all russets and warm browns and soft things over hardness and God, Philipp wanted to _bite_ him.

Casual and confident, Brandon did his short walk, and had the nerve to look at Philipp and smile. Smile! Philipp's tongue darted out to wet his lips and Brandon's eyes dropped to his mouth. His smile became even brighter, if possible. He turned, stood, removed his hat and just - shifted his weight, ostensibly showing off the outfit and - God. _Someone._ Philipp needed saving. Someone whistled and he jolted. He moved his clipboard to cover the front of his trousers. He was only human, only a man. A man in _Hell._

With some relief, Philipp bade his models to take final bows to the applause of the tour group. Braden smiled as the mother and daughter put arms around his waist for photos, completely at his ease. Philipp groaned and moved away to lean on the counter, weak. An unknown amount of time passed before Ursula joined him, carrying a stack of the clothing Brandon had worn and began folding them into a large bag. She eyed him, but only shook her head. “ _Your friend is my favorite kind of tourist,_ ” she informed him. “ _He’s taking it all. He tells me the hat in particular is his favorite piece._ ” Her chuckle was low and pleased. “ _The tour groups are sometimes annoying, but not today. No hardship at all, dressing such a man. What a figure!_ ”

Philipp chose to focus on the first part of what she was saying. “ _What, all of it?_ ” Ensembles from a shop such as Ursula’s did not come cheap at all.

Ursula lifted an eyebrow. “ _I can see he appreciates quality when it is in front of his face. Unlike some_.” She nestled the hat into a box and began ringing up the total.

Philipp rubbed a hand over his face, muttering, “ _I can as well. That’s the problem._ ”

“Hey.” Philipp startled and turned. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you, Philipp.” Brandon smiled at him before turning to Ursula. “All set here?”

Ursula beamed up at him. “A moment, sir. I must say - the Bavarian style suits you.”

He ought to say something. Philipp cleared his throat. “Yes. You - you looked like a model.”

“You liked the outfit? Cool.” Brandon’s eyes were warm. “I’ve actually had to do photoshoots before, but yeah, no. I’m not a model, wouldn’t want to be.” Brandon passed his credit card over. “But I’d wear this again.” He signed the receipt Ursula gave him.

“Halloween?” Philipp said.

Brandon’s brows drew together, though he smiled at Philip as well, head tilted to the side. “Well,” he said slowly. “I suppose that would be another reason to wear it.”

Philip swallowed. The fond way Brandon was looking at him, as if he were a -

“ _Dummkopf_ ,” Ursula muttered. She handed over the receipt, thanked Braden with a smile and left with an air of one who couldn’t bear watching them another second.

Braden watched her retreating back. “I think I understood that. Did she mean me?”

“No, me,” said Philipp. There was a pause. “Shall I help you with the bags?”

“Yeah,” Brandon said. “That’ll… That’d be great. Hang on a sec, I just wanted to check something.” He’d pulled out his phone and was typing. Philipp felt he’d lost control of the entire situation somehow, and just waited, eyes never leaving Brandon. “Ah. Got it,” Brandon said. He looked uncertain, eyes tracing Philipp’s face before ducking his head to look at the phone again. Philipp couldn’t bear it. “Um. Mo - mochtest doo… doo mit mir…”

Philipp finally broke. “ _Möchtest du mit mir zu Abend essen?_ Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Brandon’s face broke into a grin. “Oh, thank God, I was never going to get that last bit out right. Thanks. Would you - wait. You were correcting me. Weren’t you? Or…” His face was alight, hopeful.

“No. Well, yes, I am,” Philipp gasped on a half laugh. “But, also. I mean - I’m asking _you_. Would you like dinner with me? After the tour. Tonight, in Munich?”

“God, I’m so glad you asked,” Brandon said, fervent. “I’d hoped - I wasn't sure you were interested-"

"I was. Am. Gott, who wouldn't be-"

"...But it felt wrong, since you’re my tour guide, but I felt like it was now or never, so…”

“I understand,” Philip said. “You were right. So. I’m asking you first. Because I want to.” 

“Great. Great,” Brandon said. Philipp was sure the smile on his own face must be just as wide and silly as Brandon’s. He didn’t care. Brandon added, “And the answer is yes. To all of it.”

“Good. Good,” Philipp said. “And yes to your invitation also, though you didn’t actually make one. Dinner.”

“ _Yes_ ,” grinned Brandon, and did a small fist-pump like a celebrating football player. Philipp could only laugh.

“You madman. But - why?” Brandon gave him such a disbelieving look that Philipp elaborated. “You’ve known me a day.”

“Um, yeah, but.” Brandon’s smile was wry. “It didn’t take me a day to know I wanted to ask you out. Hell, it didn’t even take five minutes. Five _seconds._ ”

“What?” Philipp laughed, disbelieving.

“You shouted at me in the hotel lobby, and from the moment I looked up and saw you with the morning sunlight coming in behind you, all lit up like some Germanic god - _that’s_ when I knew. But-”

Philip’s phone trilled, cutting Brandon off. It was the ringtone he’d set for the tour company. _Verdammt, _ not now! “I have to take this, I’m very sorry,” he said.

The corner of Brandon’s mouth quirked but he nodded. Philipp turned away and swiped to answer. “Philipp Grubauer, _Guten Tag._ ” He listened, brows drawing together, asked a few questions, and hung up.

“My company,” he said to Brandon’s questioning glance. “They had an interesting thing to tell me. They received a complaint from a man who said that the bus tour left without him. He slept through his alarm, but still expected us to wait. I told them that it was impossible, my tour was full, list complete. You were the last person. So.” Philipp drew a breath. “Can you explain?”

“Well.” The suspect shifted his weight, uncomfortable under Philipp’s stern gaze. “I’m not, uh. My name’s not Brandon, for a start.”

“Who are you?” Philipp crossed his arms.

“Braden. Braden Holtby. And you, well. You kidnapped me. Sorry.”

“I _kidnapped_ \- Oh.” Philipp’s arms uncrossed to drop limply to his side. He groaned. “Oh. _Kruzifix Nomoi,_ I did, didn’t I. Oh, _Hell._ ”

“Couldn’t even get a word in before I was shanghaied onto the bus and told to buckle up.” Brandon… no, _Braden,_ Philip reminded himself - was smiling a bit. Philipp couldn’t stand it.

“We were running late!”

“So you told me,” Braden said.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t - God.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his head, fingers curling through his hair to dig into his scalp. “I can’t _believe -”_

“Hey.” Braden had his hands on Philipp’s forearms and pulled his hands down gently. “Hey, don’t get so stressed about it.” He squeezed Philipp’s arms, smiling encouragingly. “If I’d minded, I would have said something. You’ve gotta admit, it is kind of funny.”

“You must have thought I was an idiot, dragging you away. And you! You just - went along!” A flash of annoyance had Philipp scowling at him until Braden released him. “I spent the whole day calling you by the wrong name, not knowing who you are.”

“So? How well do people ever know each other when they first meet?” said Braden. Philipp pressed his lips together. He was right, but... “A name’s nothing, when all’s said and done,” Braden continued. “And… well, it’ll take a while to explain, but you not recognizing me? That was the best part. No joke. It made me - hope.” His face was quite serious until his eyes crinkled. “Besides, you were a very charming kidnapper.”

 _Argh._ Philipp walked a quick circle in reminded annoyance, came back and faced his tormentor. Braden. Braden Holtby. The most beautiful man to ever _not_ ask Philipp to dinner, and apparently the most good-natured as well, with an unfortunate streak of mischief. He tightened his jaw, tilted his head back and looked down his nose at Braden. “I thought I was a Germanic god.”

“Like gods never kidnapped anybody,” Braden said, and well. There was that.

“I still don’t know you,” Philipp said, testing.

“That’s what dinner is for,” Braden said, with yet another unassailable truth. “I ask you questions, you ask me - we talk.” He paused. “Please say you still want to have dinner with me.”

“Yes,” said Philipp, because that also was the truth.

“Oh, thank God,” Braden said on an expelled breath.

“But I’m picking the restaurant.”

“Whatever you want - oh, wait,” Braden said. “Schnitzel?”

Philipp tilted his head. “Twice in a day? No.”

“Thank God,” Braden repeated, his tone heartfelt.

“You’re welcome,” Philipp said, and smiled as Braden’s head tilted back in a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:
> 
> Trachtenmode - traditional mode or fashion  
> dirndl - we used the High German instead of the Bairisch diandl - they sound pretty much the same. Picture a barmaid at Oktoberfest - that's it.  
> lederhosen - (Bairisch - ledahosn) - traditional men's wear - the leather short pants with suspenders outfit. Again, picture Oktoberfest and some guy playing polka music, or dancing, or - whatever you want to imagine Braden Holtby in leather shorts doing, really.  
> Gott im Himmel - God in Heaven  
> gottverdammt - God damned  
> Dummkopf - Dummy! Idiot! Thicko! (insult of choice for lack of intelligence)  
> Möchtest du mit mir zu Abend essen? - High German - Would you like dinner with me?  
> Guten Tag - Hello, Good day  
> Kruzifix Nomoi - Bairisch. Literally, 'Crucified again!' But in feeling, really strong, like 'God fucking damn it!!'

**Author's Note:**

> You may want to subscribe to the story - if the ending seems a little sudden, that's because it is. The story was due, there was a decent ending point, so I posted. There will be one more chapter to finish it properly. The rating may bump up to Mature. They do have unfinished business, Braden and Philipp.
> 
> What This Fic Taught Me - Grubi is from Bavaria! And tags his posts in Instagram in a mix of High German and Bairisch! Which may or may not be sort of slangy! His Instagram also indicates his interest in street murals, so that's a real thing.
> 
> Non-English phrases - could be mistakes, let me know.  
> Bairisch - Philipp is trying to give the local flavor to the tour, and for the most part uses Bavarian German, except in a few cases where there wasn't significant enough of a difference in pronunciation between Bairisch and High German; i.e. ledahosn - lederhosen.
> 
> With thanks to my guest German beta, feikoi, who loves linguistics way more than I do. Like, whoa, feikoi LOVES that.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope it was more entertaining than educational. If you thought so, love to hear it in a comment, even if you are reading this long after Grubauer gets traded or something.  
> And I love comments, even when the fic is ages old. Those notifications are so nice to get.


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